Sonnets by Helen Hay Whitney — Read

First came the tempest, and the world was torn / Upon its mighty passion -- all the deep / Trembled before it. From the haggard steep / To the sweet valley with its brooding corn, / Its foaming lips in expletives of scorn / Lashed into life the world's eternal sleep; / Then, caught with madness, in gigantic leap / Expired upon the heights where it was born.

And then a hush -- the dripping, tender rain / Falls in warm tears. The thunder could not wake / The grief that silence in her soul has furled.